Prelude: My, my how times have changed, right? People have these talking voices in their cars instructing them to take a left at the next intersection. There is an entire hour of television dedicated to toddlers in tiaras. Every snack food you can think of comes in nice, neat 100 calorie packs. And Paula is gone from American Idol.
Verse 1: We went to the hockey game Saturday night and enjoyed a quaint evening of brawls, beer, and Boom-Boom Bechard. We have been blessed (I use that word loosely) with the opportunity to attend any and every home hockey game, enjoying the view from our lofty suite, looking down at the civilians in their cramped and beer-drenched little bucket seats, while we enjoy comfy chairs and lots of room with a flat screen TV to boot.
Verse 2: Mark's little cousin, Micah (an exact replica of Mark. It's weird.) who has risen to Columbus Civic Center fame (and Youtube fame. Yeah, I'm not kidding.) with his Soulja Boy impressions performed during intermissions at hockey games atop the lofty suite tower, was there that night. An amazingly annoying little kid accompanied him. They were playing, wrestling, throwing a ball around (in the nice, spacious, comfy suite with the flat screen TV. Yeah, let me see you civilians try to do THAT in your bucket seats.), and as many little boys do, they were incessantly picking at each other. Micah told his buddy, "Boy, I'm about to take you to school." To which the little boy replied,
Chorus: "Yeah, well I'm gonna pack your lunch." And so, Micah replied, "Ok, well I just packed your lunch, unpacked it, and repacked it again, so booyah!" This dialogue went back and forth with several versions of one of them "packing the other one's lunch", until Micah, having had enough of his lunch being packed and repacked, decided to use his husky build and brute force to tackle his buddy, sit on top of him, and bury his face in the carpet, until his buddy could say,
Bridge: "Get off of me you overweighted monkey." Yes, overweightED. Monkey. You overweighted monkey. I almost wet my pants.
Postlude: Some things never change. Sure, Paula may be gone and idiot morons like Avril Lavigne may be taking her place, and I may have to eat 5 of those little 100 calorie packs of Oreos to satiate my dunking desires, but kid cutdowns, boys being boys, boys wrestling, and name-calling will ALWAYS be funny.